


Dance of the Outlier

by suyari



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra captures Captain America during the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier. They decide to use the Winter Soldier as a means for ultimate torture. They weren't expecting to lose their greatest asset. </p>
<p>Maybe they shouldn't have left them alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance of the Outlier

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [this](http://tmxlqqjzl.tumblr.com/image/118868025390) beautiful piece of art. I saw it and couldn't help myself.

They hadn’t realized when they’d caught Captain America that the connection would be so strong. There hadn’t been an incident with the Winter Soldier since the last purging and the asset had been thoroughly and ruthlessly vigilant in capturing the super soldier. Had stood by obediently as the Captain was interrogated, adding a unique brand of personal torture to the experience. When they’d been unable to break the man, they’d left him in the Winter Soldier’s care. No one interrogated as indepthly as the asset, and no one was quite as capable at torture to the point of near death without granting release. It was an art form, really. And perhaps they’d all taken some measure of personal enjoyment from the Captain’s continual pleas landing on perfectly honed Hydra obedience. So they’d left them alone, assured in the knowledge that the torture would be infinitely worse without an audience, where the Captain could be lain bare only to be viciously unravelled. Piece by heroic piece. 

It was their first mistake. 

For the first half hour, nothing happened. The Winter Soldier stayed in the corner, watching the Captain breathe. There was blood in his eyes and his uniform was torn. But he was still alive, still stubbornly uncooperative. The Captain watched back, head tilted in a way that indicated he was in a great deal of pain and the angle caused excessive discomfort, but which he fixedly maintained through sheer force of will. Minutes ticked by as they both held the gaze, neither giving so much as an inch, barely blinking. And then it happened. 

Sometime well after the first hour had passed, the Winter Soldier’s gaze deviated. It wasn’t something he could help. Eyes drawn to the way blood trailed across the the Captain’s skin, sliding in familiar rivers. The familiarity came not from the act itself, the torture, the captivity of the asset’s target. No. It came from much deeper. The Winter Soldier was more than passingly familiar with the way blood flowed across the wells and dips of the other man’s face. The way it caught in recognizable patterns around his eyes, along his cheeks, and all around his jaw. The clotting at the corner of an eyebrow and the way drops fell free from long golden lashes. Raining down into the Captain’s lap unnoticed. The swell of the bow of his lips and the clench of his jaw were also familiar. The way his lower lip thinned under the pressure of his displeasure; while he quietly endured. 

The Winter Soldier was unaware of standing. Couldn’t track his own movements, but by the way the other’s head swiveled to keep their eyes on one another. There was recognition too in the way those eyes stared back. Defiant, confident, but not mocking, and decidedly lacking in fear, though he recognized concern. As he drew nearer, the Captain continued to try and accommodate, unwilling to surrender the contest. His labored breathing tightened the Winter Soldier’s chest and he paused, brows furrowing slowly as he catalogued and identified the emotion: Fear. He hadn’t felt fear in...He couldn’t recall feeling fear. But he knew it instinctively. Knew it stemmed from the Captain, but not in direct response to him. No, this fear came from somewhere deeper. Somewhere without a name, in the haze of things the Winter Soldier could not reach, floating ever beyond in the darkness. 

He looked up, leaning back in the chair as the Winter Soldier approached, foolishly exposing himself. And yet, and yet there was a sense of calm in the action, the Winter Soldier found. Within himself. He stepped close and the set of the Captain’s shoulders eased, the weight of his body lifting free. He blinked then, mouth opening, tongue running assessingly along his lips. The Winter Soldier straddled the prisoner, hand of his metal arm swiftly catching the man’s jaw in a vice grip. The Captain didn’t fight, didn’t flinch, merely tipped his head back and tilted his face into the touch as best he could. His eyes fluttering suddenly closed as the Winter Soldier ran careful flesh fingers along his wounds. 

“Buck,” he sighed as the Winter Soldier’s hands roamed. Metal smoothing down his neck to grip his shoulder. Flesh against flesh, causing both their pulses to race for reasons unknown. 

The Winter Soldier swallowed, feeling more than understanding. It had been so long...So long since he had felt anything at all. He could not understand how it was this target and no other could reach inside him and stir him up. To so adeptly manage so impossible a task. Drawing all the strength from his limbs until the asset was forced to sit or risk falling over. 

The Captain grunted but did not protest. Body shifting to accommodate the Winter Soldier’s body as if by habit. They fit together so well. The Winter Soldier had been trained in many things, but he had always been an assassin. Covert operations were below him. He had never been forced to seduce. Never taken part in an exchange of the body. His missions were cold and calculated and executed flawlessly. Until the Captain. 

“Bucky…” the Captain said again, voice a soft intimate whisper. The tone and inflection of the single word carrying so much meaning it was almost unbearable to hear it. “It’s me. It’s Steve.” 

The name was like a hot poker to the brain. The Winter Soldier reacted, hand gripping fine golden hair and twisting hard, yanking the Captain’s head back. He had the audacity to smile. 

“I’ve missed you so much. Come home with me, Buck. Come home.” 

The Winter Soldier inhaled deeply and forced eyes he hadn’t realized he’d squeezed shut to open. They were so close, he could feel the other man’s breath reaching out between them to ghost over his skin, across his lips and down along his jaw. There was a promise in the other man’s eyes. Something only time knew, but which, the Winter Soldier could tell affected him directly. 

He did the only thing he could think of in that moment. He leaned forward and brought their mouths into contact. He had thought, having never been required for intimate exchanges he would not know what to do, had been prepared to be forced to adapt as the exchange occurred. But the moment their lips met the Captain moaned and kissed back. It was not a kiss the Winter Soldier had ever witnessed before so there was no frame of reference to compare it to. One moment he was chasing a threadbare niggle from the recesses of his mind and then all at once it was as if he were both being consumed and consuming simultaneously. His body not only knew what to do, it took control, forcing the Winter Soldier back. He could breathe around the desperate, feverish coming together of their mouths, and yet it felt as if the Captain were pulling the very life from him. His heart thundered in his chest, his head clouded over and the longer they kissed, the more the asset realized this was not an initial meeting. The Captain knew him. Knew everywhere to run his tongue and just the right pressure to suck and all the secret places to bite that had the Winter Soldier wrapping around him with every available limb. 

The Captain’s arms were still secured behind his back, but he did not need his hands to cause devastation. The Winter Soldier’s very insides were in turmoil. Swirling with emotion and tethered firmly in the moment. The Captain planted his feet and with a grunt, rolled his hips up, forcing their groins into contact. 

“Buck,” he husked, voice rough and edged with something the Winter Soldier couldn’t quite place. “Buck...What you do to me, Buck…” 

He did it again and the Winter Soldier gasped despite all his training, clasping the Captain’s face between his hands as their brows rocked together helplessly. They blinked at one another, sharing one another’s inhales and exhales, eyes trapped once more. 

“Come back to me,” the Captain coaxed. “Bucky...Come back to me.” 

They kissed again, drawn to one another by forces unknown. 

The Winter Soldier lost track of time. Lost track of everything that did not involve the Captain’s body against his, the Captain’s breath in his lungs and his tongue in his mouth and the rhythmic rock of their hips that set the asset’s blood on fire. It felt as if he were an explosive device with a lengthy fuse that had been ignited. 

The Captain kept calling softly. “Bucky. Bucky.” Chanting like a prayer. As if were he to say it enough, there would be some sort of response. 

And yet, the further they engaged, the more control the asset surrendered to his captured - but unconquered - target, the less he felt like Hydra’s most valuable weapon. The more he felt...the more… _alive_. The Captain made him feel alive. 

For the first time. 

For the first time. In a long time. 

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the pain that bubbled to life in his brain. Let it be swept away by the Captain below him. As the pleasure blurred the pain he found he wished the other man’s hands were free. So he could feel his touch again. It had been so long since Steve’s skin had met his own. 

Everything came to a standstill, and he felt himself trembling, caught balancing on the edge. It took him a while to remember how to open his eyes and when he did, the eyes that met his were wide and glassy. 

“B-Buck?” Steve asked, swallowing hard. He blinked twice, the way he did when he was trying to force himself not to cry. 

Bucky reached for him, cupping his face in his hands and running his thumbs across his cheeks. 

“Oh God, Buck,” Steve sobbed. 

“Shhh…” Bucky replied, reaching behind him. His metal hand gripped the magnetic bonds and snapped them apart, fingers sliding between them with effortless ease. Steve’s arms wrapped about him immediately and Bucky sighed, arching back into the touch. Taking the moment to relax back into the comfort of his home returned. 

“Buck…” He needed to hear him say it - again. He could tell by the grip of his hands, and the way his arms cradled him close. 

Looking down, Bucky brought their brows back into contact, their eyes finding one another without conscious effort. “Steve.” 

It was odd to see Captain America cry. 

Some part of Bucky still struggled with separating Steve and Captain America, and he supposed some part of him always would. Perhaps even more so now. But when he held his gaze, their faces so close their blinks brushed their eyelashes, felt the possessive grip of his best friend and the only person he’d ever really, truly loved beyond all reason enough that he’d dared to allow himself imaginings of a future for them together, felt the rock of his body and the caress of his exhales, he was just Steve. Just Steve, and no one else. 

“ _Steve_ ,” he found himself saying, hands tangling in his hair again as their emotions were swept up in the wake of imminent release. “Steve.” 

“I’ve got you, Buck. I’m here, I’ve got you.” 

They came together, within moments, within the span of a single heartbeat, spilling decades worth of sorrow and misery and separation out between them from every available space. So that when they collapsed into one another, hands stroking gently in the wonder of being reunited, all that was left was the lightness of joy and the rising urge for celebration. 

“They’re going to come back,” Bucky murmured, nosing Steve simply because he could. 

“Mmm,” Steve agreed. “Soon probably. I’m amazed they left us alone as long as they did, really.” 

Steve’s hair felt silky between the fingers of Bucky’s flesh hand, even with the blood and grime still caught between the strands. “So, what’s the plan?” 

One of Steve’s hands was happily lulling him, tracing his spine through his Kevlar. Steve didn’t need to feel to know. Bucky didn’t need the direct contact to be able to feel it either. “First, we take out the guards, then we take down the base. Then…” His other hand trailed a finger down the back seam of Bucky’s pants. “We go home and catch up.” 

Bucky sniffed, not at all convinced Steve’s new friends at S.H.I.E.L.D. would simply let it be like that. But, then, he did not underestimate Steve. He’d stopped doing that a long, long time ago. 

“It’s going to be okay, Buck,” he promised, gently nuzzling Bucky against the jaw. 

“I know,” he replied, turning his face so they could see one another directly again. “We’re together.” 

Steve smiled. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah, we are.” 

They kissed again. Long and lingering and deeply saturated with promise. 

The door opened. 

Hydra made their second mistake in interrupting them. 

Bucky smirked at the group who stared at them in astonishment, seriously at a loss as to what had occurred. They took a step back as one. 

Steve stood up beside him. 

Hydra would not make a third mistake. 

Bucky and Steve saw to that.


End file.
